The Twin Wanderers
by xxsachiiko
Summary: Two halves are equal, a cross between two evils; It's not an enviable lot. And when I try to let him in, I feel my stitches getting sicker. I try to wash him out but like she said, the blood is thicker. I see my mother in my face, but only when I travel; I run as fast as I can run, but Jack comes tumbling after. - Dresden Dolls
1. Six Months

**The Twin Wanderers**

'I didn't expect much from him. Why should I have? He was my brother, not my savior, and definitely not my keeper. I wonder if he felt as blinded as I did, the first time I stepped out of the Vault.' - _Alicia_

**Note: **This will cross over into New Vegas, eventually. This was originally for a kink meme prompt, but it's sort of turned into this entirely too complicated world of its own, once I began using the twins in a roleplay. I wish that you could select more than four characters, because it involves at least four more, so I only added 'Lone Wanderer' and 'Charon', because it's who we're starting out with. To clarify, however, this _is _about **twins**. This will likely change as time goes on. Butch, Raul and the Courier will eventually join them. If violence isn't your thing I'd probably stop reading this now.

* * *

When Alicia stepped into Underworld, she was terrified and thin. Altogether too tired of the Wasteland, her Vault-issued jumpsuit was in tatters. When given hints on where to find 'hired help' for her journey, she almost died where she stood. Living dead people... In Megaton, she'd met one of them. A slave, apparently named Gob, who worked for a _disgusting_ man with an odd accent. Though she was nice to her, the fact that he still said 'don't hurt me' so often tore at her in a way that didn't often happen, after witnessing the blatant child abuse of Amata by her father not only during she and her brother's escape but for years prior to the event, like sick whispers echoing in the sorrowful metal walls.

In Rivet City, her brother Jace was drinking himself to sleep in one of the empty beds. Weeks ago, when he himself was looking for their wayward father, a few things had been discovered and some vicious truths said. He'd long-since burned his own jumpsuit, deeming it disgusting prison wear or, more appropriately, his death attire. In some space of his mind, however _irrational_ he was becoming, he tried to forgive Alicia. After all, it was easy for him to get the wool pulled over his eyes about what kind of man their father was and how _fragile_ life in that damned sardine can actually was. It was only natural she'd follow their father, as caring for the populous that didn't give a shit as he was.

Better off in the sardine can, indeed.

Alicia didn't go straight to the Ninth Circle, and Charon wasn't always under Ahzrukhal's controlling, scrutinizing glare. She'd met a female ghoul named Tulip, who could almost taste the fear on her. Trembling and twitching, the skinny vaultie calmed down when she bought a beer or two and they began to talk. Charon, while she went to sleep for the night, went to another woman named Willow who'd unfortunately already made her judgments of the smoothskin before they'd even said a word to each other.

Paradise Lost tucked under her arm, Alicia found an empty bed of her own and tried to sleep. Willow and Charon had an unspoken sort of relationship, the woman able to find a warmth and odd love in the muscled ghoul's growling and oddly displaced emotions.

Maybe, he could have said he loved her, if he hadn't spent a good chunk of his life under different 'employers'. The beginning of his life had been filled with torture and subliminal programming, trained with weapons and told not to feel for as long as he'd remembered, before Ahzrukhal got a hold of his contract. He didn't talk about that part of his life and she never asked, respecting the mutual discomfort about their pasts. It didn't matter how he felt about it, because for the moment he was out of that damn corner in the drug dealer's bar. He had an attractive woman in his lap who knew how to touch him and ease the pulsing emptiness in his chest.

"I've got a really _strange_ feeling," said Willow when she leaned up and against him. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. "Don't you?"

It depended entirely on what kind of 'strange feelings' she was talking about. "Strange feeling?"

Their kisses were usually rushed and sloppy but that night it was slow and dedicated, however messy those kisses remained. Without warning, she'd slipped between Charon's legs and peered up at him, giving him the smile that _almost_ felt better to him than killing. But only almost.

"I think you're going to be leaving soon."

Oh, so what if she was prophesying over a Vault dweller's intentions and reasons for being there? She was dusty and had hair longer than she'd seen in a very, very long time. It was so obvious what she was there for. If Willow hadn't have felt bad for her, she probably would have felt offended by the usual stereotype of dangerous, feral ghoul men and women. However, the girl's face wasn't one of bigotry. Her eyes screamed exhaustion and the way she carried herself wasn't much of an improvement. It didn't take a rocket scientist to determine she desperately needed help.

It'd only be a matter of time, in reality, before Ahzrukhal's disgusting hands would have a hold on that one. "I'm not leavin'," Charon gruffly said. "You been drinking tonight?"

"Have you?"

Before he could answer, she'd gotten his dick out and he couldn't quite think too hard about anything as she teased him. Always, she did this; Seeing how far she could push him, before his feet theoretically dug themselves into the ground, five feet from the edge of the narrow cliff that was his patience.

"I think you know that answer already. You're smart."

He shuddered as nails scraped lightly over the skin that was left in the small of his lower back. So, she really meant to push him. If he were a different man, he would've called it exciting, but for the most part, he called it normal and felt right at home. As she ran her tongue along his prick and looked at him with a gaze he adored, he was always reminded of the first few times he'd done this with her in the on-again, off-again relationship that was his empty shell of an abused life.

Somehow, Willow had caught onto him as though she'd known his body all her life. Taking almost all of it down her throat, she'd never choked or gagged but three times. The fourth, she had him _memorized_, and figured out a breathing pattern. He couldn't say he loved her, though he did try. Whenever the word was on the tip of his tongue he felt both scared, compelled away from it or was extremely confused. She didn't mind, though. Though there was nothing anybody could (or wanted) to do against Ahzrukhal, she at least intended to try to make it a bit better for him.

He managed to never pull what hair she had left in that ponytail or to simply fuck her mouth. Their sex was never gentle, but this time it seemed a bit different. She couldn't keep her eyes on his and though she took very good care of him that night, actually swallowing his cum instead of spitting, he knew something was off. Ghoul women were able to tolerate the taste because they could barely taste anything, any of them.

They barely talked that night, drinking and smoking cigarettes as they usually did. And as Jace finally blacked out from his liquor, miles and miles away on the boat he'd come to hate in the years to come, Alicia had finally fallen asleep and the tight fetal position she'd curled herself into relaxed into a slight curvature upon the dirty mattress she slept upon.

Willow never said goodbye and neither did he, but something felt very wrong and this odd, unknown choking sensation settled itself in his throat. When he returned to the Ninth Circle, Ahzrukhal still (thankfully) passed out from the drugs he dealt, he stood in his corner and thought about what little they'd said to each other.


	2. Contracted Homicide

Why does it matter what dad thinks? Dad's fucking dead and if you keep running after him you're gonna get dead too. - _Jace_

* * *

In the morning, Ahzrukhal's biting voice barked at him to 'wake up', though it was rare that Charon actually slept. The day had started, and early-morning drunks began to shuffle to his counter. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, shotgun pressing into what skin he had left on his back. He heard Carol's voice as she passed the doors, and he wondered what Willow was doing, as Ahzrukhal discussed price points with one of his customers.

"It's highway robbery, you bastard," muttered a man, as he _slowly_ slid the caps across the counter. But Ahzrukhal only laughed in that rough voice of his, and gestured towards Charon as if it were a warning, and the man froze.

"Tell that to my help."

That was enough for him to let it go, taking his drugs and leaving hastily. And Charon, when his 'employer' wasn't looking, shot him a glare that would've burned through metal. But he looked down just as quickly, grumbling to himself.

Before the man in his grimy suit could comment, the doors opened and a thin woman with ridiculous black hair stood there, anxious and unknowing of what to do. Charon's eyebrows raised, as he'd _never_ seen anyone with hair that long, even when he hadn't been in Underworld. It was enough to make anyone uncomfortable, because even though there were scars that showed through her tattered vault jumpsuit she looked as though she hadn't been around that long.

He expected her to come up to him first, and his mind already screamed 'talk to Ahzrukhal', but she didn't. How terrified of this place was she? He hoped she'd at least met a few decent people beforehand, but most smoothskins were terrified of the few good people left, just because of their skin.

She had these big blue eyes that were a good aid at first to get what she wanted, but now they looked dead and so did her posture, as she leaned over the counter and put on a fake smile. Ahzrukhal whistled a little and Charon felt somewhat disgusted but knew he couldn't (and wouldn't) say anything. The parts of her skin not covered by the suit looked as though she'd been sunburnt _many_ times, and that she hadn't had a shower or even washed up in weeks. He watched Ahzrukhal walk over and reach his hand out to touch her hair. Charon could've retched, as he sometimes did in private over the man's activites, but it wasn't his place to comment.

"A vault dweller, huh?" he whistled. "Don't see many of those anymore. What d'ya need? Pull up a stool."

"I need," said the girl as she sat down, "A bodyguard."

"And who told you about me?"

"That isn't really important. You got anything to drink, or do you just sell... _Other_ things?"

Ahzrukhal laughed a little and they began to talk over business, she overpaying for a few bottles of vodka. She opened one of them and downed a third of it in a few seconds, and slumped a bit, leaning her chin on one hand.

"Don't _you_ look absolutely... _Miserable_. You can tell your Uncle Ahzrukhal all about it," the ghoul tried, which Charon could almost feel her growing uncomfortable over. "Your misery, my wealth."

"Six months ago I left my vault and I'm looking for someone. It's dangerous out there and I can't continue on this way." She swished the liquid around in the bottle, setting it down. Shrugging, she gestured to Charon with her right hand, trying for a genuine smile. "Who's he?"

"Charon?" asked Ahzrukhal, trying not to laugh. Straight and to the point, she was. "Pretty much, I point at something and Charon hurts it. He's the best thug a corrupt bartender could ever ask for. He never bothers me with his own annoying sense of morality."

_Wow_, thought Alicia. _This man would find such a friendship in that Moriarty bastard._

"How much?"

"More than _you_ could probably afford," countered Ahzrukhal. "But ghoul, human... I don't care. The caps all spend the same. What is it you need him for? Sorry to say this, but women like you don't tend to last."

"That's why I need him," said Alicia nonchalantly, as she stood up from the stool to lean in very close. Almost too close, but the ghoul seemed excited, because under the grime she was somewhat attractive. Charon found it hard not to snicker, because the only women that went after that asshole were junkies and prostitutes. "How much?"

"Two-thousand caps. A steal, just for you. With his contract, he'll do anything you say."

"Two-thousand...? Uncle Ahzrukhal..." Alicia leaned in a bit more and pressed a kiss to the ghoul's forehead, feeling her stomach churn and the vodka threaten to come up. "Won't you give me a better price? Just for me?"

The way she pressed her tits against him when leaning over the counter, looking at him so innocently, made Charon somewhat irritated because this girl was playing with fire and didn't seem, in his opinion, to understand her actions. Ahzrukhal seemed quite surprised, leaning back and chortling to himself. "One-thousand, and that's my final offer, little vaultie."

A relieved, brilliant smile appeared on her face and she put a large bag of caps on the counter. He took them, and slid across the contract. She didn't bother to look at it, snatching her bottles and putting them in her pack. In the commotion of her speech with Ahzrukhal, Charon had heard Willow's voice, outside of the doors. When Alicia walked up to him, swaying a bit due to the alcohol (and sick because of the taste of the disgusting skin she'd kissed), he was startled into attention.

"Hello!" she said, cheerfully.

"Talk. To. Ahz -"

Wordlessly, she held up the contract, worn thin with little writing on it, and he stared at it for a long time before saying anything.

"You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal? So... I am no longer in his service. That's good to know."

He didn't say much else of importance, and Alicia figured he had a few loose ends to tie up. But what happened next she didn't expect, and would've been quite terrified of the ghoul if she hadn't seen so much already. When Charon recieved confirmation from Ahzrukhal, his ex-employer's head was blown off, people in the bar gasped and made their comments. The doors cracked open and Willow poked her head through, voice a whisper. As coagulated blood dripped on the floor, the grimy suit acting as a dirty sponge, Alicia turned quickly to face the ghoulette before she'd said a word.

"Hey, tourist. You should come with me."

"Why?" asked Alicia, _utterly_ confused and shell shocked by what she'd just witnessed. "Who are you?"

"Someone who knows your... purchase a lot better than that druggie fuck _ever_ did. We should talk. Tell him to get ready, and then come outside with me."

The door shut again, and she didn't really know what to think about the woman, the man whose head was just blown through, nor the bodyguard she'd just purchased. But something screamed odd about Charon, and she couldn't figure out why. A contract that had no lettering... Why was it so important to him? Was he paid well for that job? Ahzrukhal seemed very disgusting and though it wasn't the first time she'd flirted with a man to get a discount on liquor, it was the first time she'd done so for another human (ghoul?) life. Charon kicked the body lightly with one foot before returning to her. She didn't get a chance to speak, before he did.

"Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor-bound to do as he commanded."

"Honor-bound...?" once again, she was confused and he saw it on her face, but he didn't quite feel like explaining it. It wasn't as though she'd get it, anyways. All the vault assholes were usually the same.

"You are now my employer, and I will do as you command. You helped me free the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or for ill, I serve you."

"Serve?" she stammered. "I'm - A lady came in here and told me she wanted to talk to me." Stepping away from Charon, she snatched the caps she'd just spent off of Ahzrukhal, and proceeded to take every bottle of alcohol and what was in the safe. He raised an eyebrow, as she seemed too tiny - too innocent, to do those things. He could tell that the kiss to the bastard's head wasn't planned, and that she rarely even touched another person, let alone do something like that. She wouldn't last long, even with his help, and he was sure of that.

"Can you go get ready, buy what we'll need from that Tulip girl or... Otherwise?" she sounded exhausted, and he nodded, when she pushed the bag of caps into his hand. Bloodstained, but nonetheless still of worth. "I'll be outside, when you're done."

And just like that, she was gone. Charon, very confused, did as he was told. The air on her face, after watching a man be brutally murdered, kept her from vomiting the 'medicine' she'd ingested. Willow stood outside in plain view, arms folded. She and the tourist had a lot to talk about, now that Charon would be following after her.


	3. Help, I'm Alive

Being in the Legion showed me a lot of things. Like how people can hate each other so much, but still get shit done as if it's nothing to them. But it also showed me how awful people can be and why they should not be celebrated, even if their achievements are great. I know I was wrong, but I had something to believe in. Doesn't everyone want that? - _Jace_

* * *

"What's your name?"

Alicia stood awkwardly in the late afternoon air, trying hard to keep eye contact with Willow, yet failed miserably. "Alicia -"

Willow cut her off. "No last names. It doesn't matter out here. Why are you out here by yourself?"

Her tangled hair blew in the breeze and her eyes darted to her shoes in response. How could she explain something she didn't know, herself? Her twin was always so easy in speaking, blunt with things. "I was kicked out of my vault. I'm looking for my family."

Willow studied her face and tapped it up by her chin with two fingers, before pulling away. Alicia flinched violently, and her hands twitched. She was on-edge and she still felt sick. "Kicked out?" Willow raised an eyebrow, unable to imagine a situation in which a tiny thing like her would be ejected from her vault. In reality, she couldn't imagine anything as far as vault dwellers went. Nobody really thought anyone was left in them, after so many years. After all, those places could only last so long until imbreeding, then death. "Why?"

"I don't know. There was violence. Death. My father disappeared one day and my brother ran out on me because I didn't run fast enough from police bullets. Why does this matter so much?" asked Alicia tiredly.

"Walk with me, kid."

And so they did, but not too far. Enough to keep the girl from trembling so much she fell apart. Just being around her was enough for Willow herself to feel somewhat nervous.

"I'm _not_ a kid," Alicia blurted. But she covered her mouth just as quickly, eyes shutting as she stopped, embarrassed. Scared of her, most likely. And Willow stopped as well, putting a hand on her shoulder. "My brother left me out here and I've been doing okay, but... I ran into one of those... Ugly fish things -"

"A mirelurk."

"A mirelurk, and I just... I've been running into _uglier_ and _bigger_ things as time goes by. And you can only run from it for so long. Eventually, one of them might catch up to me, and -"

"Charon has a gift with guns that you've probably never seen before. You'll be fine, but... You _need_ to listen to him. You don't know me, but I know him. Your brother sounds like a dick."

She was so blunt, it surprised Alicia, but as the days went by she didn't find herself shocked by much anymore. She sighed and toyed with the belt of her jumpsuit, and tried to think of what to say. In the end, she could do nothing else but agree with her. "He is a dick. But he's my twin, and it's my responsibility to find him."

"Twins, huh?"

They began walking again.

"Where's your mother?"

"Heaven, maybe. If that exists. After being out here, I'm not so sure there's a god anymore. Do you think there is?"

What an odd question. It had been a while since Willow participated in existential conversation, because not one of the ghouls (her kind, she supposed) gave two shits about heaven, hell or the man behind their cause of seemingly 'eternal life'. When Willow hesitated, Alicia thought about what she had asked and she felt awful for doing so. Willow squeezed her shoulder and let go, shrugging.

"God's the end of a working gun, and the few bullets left in the wasteland. God's the way Ahzrukhal's head blew off and splattered on the walls. God's the reason why so many have suffered. I suppose there is one, but he sure as fuck ain't here."

"What happened to all of you?" Alicia whispered.

Willow laughed and she gestured to the rubble, the empty, broken surroundings that surrounded them. How the roads could barely be traversed, because so many broken slabs of concrete and what once was cluttered the roads like corpses in a plague. At any time, they could be breathing in the dust of atomic skeletons turned to powder after centuries, and every time Alicia remembered that she choked and almost threw up.

"The war did. Most of us went feral, like they teach you in those vaults, but another portion of us ended up like this. Alive, but rotting over the centuries. It's painful. Not everyone has the gene, and those who do? It's a 50/50, if they'll turn feral. Muties are the same way. I hope you get to meet a good mutant, because they're _so_ few, these days."

Alicia couldn't imagine running into any kind of feral ghoul or super mutant, because most of them ran at her and attacked. Like when she met Gob at Moriarty's bar, she'd almost screeched when she walked into Underworld and there were radiation victims. Scarred, terrifying and most mentally ill. "That lady, Carol? She talked about this ghoul I met. Gob."

Willow stopped, and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Alicia nervously began to toy with her hair, brushing out tangles with her hands. It was something she did habituatlly, because no matter how well she took care of 'the poof', which is what men called it, it would never resist becoming a giant black tumbleweed. In reality, she was surprised Ahzrukhal even looked at her that way, because she was a skinny toothpick with _no_ breasts or ass and ratty hair.

"Did you tell her you met him?"

"No. How did you know I did?"

"Because you wouldn't have brought it up if you hadn't. She doesn't talk about it, and neither do the rest of us." Willow walked ahead of her and they circled back around to the entrance of the museum. "You should tell her."

"I don't think _anybody_ likes learning that somebody they care about is a slave."

"It's better than thinking he's dead."

As Willow told Alicia about what had happened - well, what little Carol would say, Jace awoke on his mattress, drool puddled around his face. Sitting up, he wiped it off with a sleve of his baggy, long-sleeved shirt. Hands on his knees, he shut his eyes as he listened to the noises and voices of the people that occupied Rivet City pass by. Eating a few Mentats, he pushed the packet of them back into his pocket. As Alicia felt guilt for lying by omission to Carol, Jace felt his own guilt for leaving her out there, however lucid he was between doses of drugs and alcohol.

Standing up, he stumbled out and to the marketplace to buy more clothes for her. He went out and killed things, to get the caps to keep himself drunken and in blissful ignorance that he had family. In his time there he'd gotten into at least fifteen fights, and hadn't done a damn thing of importance after finding out what their father had gone to do. In that time, Alicia had saved a town from an atomic bomb and negotiated with 'vampires', saving Arefu as she asked anyone who would listen if they had seen her brother or their father, James.

Jace gagged on a cough and almost vomited, but kept himself in control as the light of the tunnels of the ship hit his eyes. People had slowly gotten to know him as the 'skinny vault boy', but that was about it. It was obvious something had happened, but nobody questioned it when he bought new clothes, literally changing out of the jumpsuit into them after paying the man.

Yeah, he almost got in trouble with security when he'd burnt the jumpsuit in a metal trash can, but in the end nobody bothered to punish him. He hated the vault just as much as _they_ did, and was willing to prove it, so he was left alone. He supposed that his upset over the old sardine can was something Alicia would share, and he only looked for things that he supposed would look good on her and were practical. He knew that she'd sunburn just as badly as he did, and picked out long sleeves; She couldn't be mad at him for long.

After all, she was the smarter of the two. Surely, she'd understand why he ran away. The same reason lay within her, when she stopped to save Butch's mother from radroaches as they tried to escape from the vault. She knew they were just as afraid of death as he was, a fear she refused to admit she had in herself.

The empty bottles of gin and whiskey by Butch's mom likely echoed the sorrows that he felt from everyone that passed him by. He almost wanted to befriend the junkie of the boat, because at least he'd have something in common with the bastard. He felt a sort of grief as he imagined his father being torn apart by a yao guai, and his path went from the pretentious clothing salesman to the Muddy Rudder. He didn't want to see that image anymore, to acknowledge that their dad was probably dead the moment he walked out of the vault. Though he was good with a gun, he knew that if he couldn't run away from one of those, it would just be better to get on all fours and prepare for death.

"I'll tell her," said Alicia. "But I _won't_ leave him there."

"Woah there, miss ambitious. I think you need to take care of your own problems first."

"My problem is nothing compared to a person in captivity," said Alicia. With hesitation she continued, "Like Charon was."

"Gob's situation is _nothing_ like Charon's, beyond the barest comparison of slavery. Another hint for you: _Don't_ ask him about it. Charon, I mean. He'll most likely grunt and ignore you, but be kinda pissed off that you're doing it. But he's a good man, _somewhere_ beneath the brainwashing."

The wanderer didn't really know what to say to that, but it was stuck in her mind. What happened to him? Brainwashing of what kind? Willow stared upwards and made a thoughtful noise.

"He'll protect you, Alicia. But try not to expect more than that. Charon _isn't_ wired that way and he certainly doesn't want to be friends with anybody."

"Then how do you know so much about him?" Alicia countered. "Nobody _truly_ wants to be alone."

"Because he trusts me," finished Willow, as they walked back inside the Museum. "Like he might trust you, given you make it out here. It'll never go anywhere beyond friends, but with him, it's the best you can do for him. Please take the advice I gave you, or you're going to be torn apart. It's awful you got left out here but now, it's time to live your life. Look for them all you want, but don't forget to take care of yourself. Any skinnier, and you'll look like a feral."

She waited until Alicia had found Charon at the entrance to their home, and left with him. Standing at the doors to the museum, she covered her face with her hand and leaned against the doorway. Whenever he left, it was common knowledge by everyone that he might die or may find an owner far away. Though Charon didn't understand what family was, or even friendship across his own thin understanding of it, he knew how to survive. She felt stupid, worrying about him. But everyone did, because out of everyone there, he had been hurt and abused the most.

Disregarding Ahzrukhal completely, it was hard for her to even get him talking beyond the barest 'hi' and 'fuck off'. And that was as an adult woman aware of the world's problems, understanding of such suffering. She doubted Alicia would comprehend any of it for at least a few years, if ever. The hours they spent talking were, however, well spent. Because as she heard the echo of the former vault dweller's voice in the evening breeze, she sounded a little more confident. A little more capable, even if it only meant a few more days or weeks upon the Earth.

She prayed to the god nobody believed in that Charon wouldn't follow the girl into the grasp of death.


End file.
